


A Taste of Christmas

by Lyssandra_Med



Series: One-Shot [38]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Creature Fic, Creature Hermione Granger, F/F, Secret Santa, Vampire Hermione Granger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:40:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21903127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyssandra_Med/pseuds/Lyssandra_Med
Summary: Bellatrix is looking for a partner.Hermione is looking for a meal.Christmas brings the most exciting gifts.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Bellatrix Black Lestrange
Series: One-Shot [38]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1429282
Comments: 13
Kudos: 178





	A Taste of Christmas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LindaOnASkateboard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LindaOnASkateboard/gifts).



> For the absolutely wonderful LindaOnASkateboard! I hope you enjoy!

Christmas time was finally upon them. There were beggars at nearly every door, heaps of dirty snow piled in corners and spilling through the gutters, and more than a few pallid hands or feet poking out among the drifts.

Bah- _fucking_ -humbug.

Oh how merry, Christmastime-

Long moments filled with soulless memories that she would rather just forget, times past and buried under her poor decisions and the miasma that perforated the whole of the century.

And it was _cold._

All the time, everywhere you went. Cold, damp, dreary-

Oh, so very bloody cold.

Even her bed, a massive hulking monstrosity of down and silken sheets, had seen fit to fail in its mission to keep her warm. Ever since dear ol’ Rod departed for another whore, she had left it open and wanting. Oh, they might have all whispered that she was a frigid bitch who desired for nothing and no one, but it wasn’t true.

Well, a part of it wasn’t, at the very least.

She _was_ frigid. She would admit it, maybe slap their face, but it _was_ true. But not the whole story. Yes, even she wanted, every now and again. Generally, she wanted for someone to pull her assemblage off, someone who would worship her with tongue and fingers, hiked skirts and tumbled hair.

And so now, late at night and freezing her nose off whenever the wind blew, she was on the prowl.

Up and down the alleys she wandered, some much cleaner than others but each of them still littered with ladies of the night. Some gentlemen were scattered among them but none were what she was looking for. None measured up to her rather exacting standards.

Someone filled with youth - _if only so that she could feel young again_ \- and energy.

She stepped past old men pleading in tired voices, hauled her skirts up as she climbed over curbs and detritus, every placement just a nudge away from stepping in slush and ice. She may have been older than when she first took to the streets but her feet were just as surely placed as ever. Soon enough she had wandered out from all her usual haunts, further away from home than ever before. 

The chill in the air was certainly a hindrance to her search, the whole of it biting and whipping against her form as it punched through every layer. The breeze was funnelled and hemmed in by the close quarters of the buildings until it merely hurt to even move.

Pain, first and foremost.

All of it forgotten when she found _her._

The woman wasn’t that much taller than she herself was, only maybe a half a hand or so, helped along by tall boots and long golden tresses that flowed off her shoulders with all the grace of a waterfall. Thick ringlets of brown looked more haphazard than intentional, and as she peered closer she could take in the distinctly dishevelled look of hair long unwashed.

A street urchin then, or someone destitute and on poor times.

The woman’s garb wasn’t regal in any sense of the word; her dress may have once been beautiful but now it was _years_ out of fashion, and hanging loosely across the stretch of her body. Pale pink descending towards a deeper magenta, deeply purple the lower it went. The fabric that covered her was thin, almost see-through in some places, and she seemed to only have a large ochre shawl wrapped about her shoulders for warmth.

Bellatrix stopped in the middle of the alley, skirts pinched between her fingers and all her rhythm broken while she sucked in her breath-

-exhaled the very next moment when she finally locked eyes with the woman.

Her gaze was red, or something close enough to be mistaken for it. Bellatrix bit her lip and moved closer until the orbs had resolved into whiskey and honey, their edges dark enough to explain the odd tinge that she had seen. A pretty sight, far more of a beauty than any of the other wretches wandering lost and aimless.

_‘She’s the one.’_

“Oh dear, dear, you poor thing.” Bellatrix tittered, striding forward with all the grace and pomp that a woman of her standing could achieve, “Girl I’ll be honest with you, you’ll catch your death if you stay outside in weather like this.”

This wasn’t her _normal_ strategy for finding someone. _Sympathy._ Or a feigned emotion that could be likened to it well enough. But something about the look that swirled in the woman’s eyes made her feel that a softer approach was needed, a tactic much subtler but sweeter all the same. And, judging at least by the sudden perk in the woman’s stance, it looked to have been the right idea.

“Oh, don’t worry about me Madam, I’m fine. I’ve nowhere to be for the moment, just fancied myself a bit of fresh air.”

That _voice._ It caught Bellatrix off-guard, flatfooted, her lips parting and a _true_ smile blossoming across her face. That tone was damned near lyrical, music to her ears and sweet as sugar to boot. A lovely quality not unlike the ethereal singing that accompanied bodies to their graves. 

And just the perfect little response to the beginning of their game. After all, one did not simply _ask_ a lady of the night to join them in their bed.

“No, no, a fragile thing like you?” She failed to see the smirk across the woman’s lips when her words hit the air, “Well it’s just not right that you should be out here all alone, in this weather especially. Come here, come here, let me at least have a proper look at you.”

She moved forward at just the same moment as the woman, their bodies soon pressed close together within the confines of the alleyway. No one else was watching. No one _dared._ It simply wasn’t polite to bother a woman about her business, and Bellatrix had perfected her aura of _don’t-you-dare-fuck-with-me_ back when she was still a young maid. No, she was free to press close and place hands upon the woman’s cold cheeks, their lips so close together that she could smell the faintest hint of perfume. Something bold, something brash, iron and strawberries.

A distinctly unique aroma, but oddly pleasing nonetheless.

Bellatrix looped their arms together before turning to pull her off down the thin alleyway. Their gait quickly matched, bodies leaning into one another, the ever-present chill stealing what little warmth she had to give.

_‘Gods but she’s cold. She better not have any frost damage…’_

“Now then dear, whatever are you doing out here all alone? And don’t give me any lip about fresh air. Even I know it isn’t safe for a young, proper lady to merely wander about.”

The woman at her side giggled before replying, reserved yet delighted. “Then why are you out here? If you don’t mind the same question, Madam.”

Ah, so this one at least knew how to converse. Much better than her last conquest, Alectra, or Alecto-something. 

“Whoever said I was a proper lady,” Bellatrix whispered against the shell of the woman’s ear, punctuating her words with a sharp bite upon the lobe.

Bellatrix pulled back, eagerly watching the sight of the woman shivering within her grasp, a carnivorous smile stretched across her lips.

\---

The flickering glow of gas lamps lit their way back. On and on they went, arms linked, quiet and serene. Bellatrix had worked herself a rather good price, discounted and brokered in the shared tongue that they used to hide the woman’s practice from the law. A few words here, some there, the topic of discussion being sewing, of all things. If anyone else happened to overhear them, well, all they knew was that this woman was now contracted to fix a few garments, nothing more.

Private, just as she liked it.

By the time they reached her home, she was feeling well and truly tired, desiring of nothing more than warm flesh within her grasp and wetness to coat her fingers. Brown bricks wedged her little domicile in between a house on either side, a townhouse right and proper. Three stories, nearly the same length deep, and warmer than a summer spent in one of those horrid factories downtown.

Perfect, in every way.

She pulled the woman at her side up a few short steps before throwing open the door and stepping through. One arm was spread back in invitation, the other upon her hip as she looked on. Likely this was one of the grandest homes the woman had ever been in, and even years later it delighted her to see the wonder in a new guest’s eyes.

Except there was none when she looked back. Only a mild, if amused, stare.

“Aren’t you going to invite me in, Madam Lestrange? Surely it wouldn’t do for a woman of such low stature as myself to wander in without being properly invited.” The woman’s lips lilted at the side, a smirk as much as a smile and so bright that Bellatrix almost felt her heart stutter to a stop.

 _‘Oh my word,’_ Bellatrix echoed around her mind, _‘What do I have here? A comedian?’_

“Of course, of course. Please, do come inside Miss…?”

“Granger.” The woman curtsied as low as she could within the tatters of her old dress, “It’s a pleasure.”

“Well then, please do come in Ms. Granger, I’d love to show you around. The bedroom will be particularly of note, I assure you.”

The woman nodded her head and smiled - _so soft, so sweet_ \- before moving to step past the threshold and brush up against her in the same moment. Just enough of the fleeting warmth passed between them, that rapturous perfume once again lodging itself within Bellatrix’s nostrils as she inhaled and leaned forward to brush lips against Granger’s throat. The door closed on silent hinges, the barest of thuds echoing through the entrance hall as it did so. She pulled the latch to lock it up before turning to usher Granger forward.

A single fire was lit within the parlour room, kept burning by Kreacher most likely. The old fool was always the most circumspect of her family's servants, and when she had struck out on her own the bastard had followed her like some lost little lamb. She had abided his mutterings and odd timing, content with him so long as he remained blind to her rather lascivious appetite.

And other proclivities as well, dark as their nature was.

“Well, Ms. Granger, I must say that you’re positively freezing.” Bellatrix ran a finger down the woman’s cheek, removing it suddenly when the nearly biting chill began to burn. “How long have you been outdoors? It’s unacceptable that the government sees fit to leave all its citizens floundering like this.”

“Agreed,” Granger nodded, tone sombre and chilled. “Though to be quite honest with you I was only out for an hour before you happened by. Started late tonight, courtesy of an old Lord.”

Bellatrix couldn’t help it. An old Lord? How _interesting._

“Who?”

“No one you should know. And besides,” Granger narrowed her eyes, tilted her head. “A lady never tells. But then again that’s why I’m here, isn’t it? You’ve _other_ interests beyond sewing, correct?”

Granger pushed herself forward into Bellatrix’s space as she finished talking, breast to breast and head tilted to the side as she nudged a cold nose against the fluttering skin above Bellatrix’s pulse. A hand wrapped around her waist, pulling them tighter, and when Bellatrix felt the urge to move it was buoyed by the competing turn of Granger’s strong body.

Yes, Gods yes, she had so many other interests to see to tonight.

Her answer was to throw off the rust and frost that left her locked within Granger’s grasp, her own hands reaching down to pull along at the woman as she backed up towards the stairs on the opposite side of the entrance hall. When she reached the first steps she stood higher than Granger, a few inches at best, but enough for her to feel comfortable with pulling her in close and catching lips between her teeth. The nip turned into a proper kiss, tongue swiping out to lap against the taste of fruit and iron, and something else more foreign to her knowledge or experience.

Gods but she tasted _wonderful._

Step by step they ascended the stairs, careful and quiet as each traded nip for a nip, bite for bite, a swipe of her tongue leading before Granger’s. Slowly they separated into competing motions, both of them casting off articles of clothing as they moved. Granger’s shawl fell down off the bannister to the floor below them, Bellatrix’s corset thrown down by the wayside, a dress slipping down to reveal-

Nothing.

Nothing but smooth skin tanned by nature, expanses with few freckles and no birthmarks except two along Granger’s neck. 

And _still,_ she was colder than the snow that fell against the windows. She would definitely have to work overtime to give the girl her worth, warm her up to her own level of satisfaction.

It wasn’t very far from their position in the middle of the stairwell to her bedroom, not as far as one might have initially suspected anyways, with how confusing the inner geometry of her home could be. Soon enough both were bared to the world and each other, passing through the doorway to her chambers. Sharp teeth bit down upon Bellatrix’s lips, stinging and pointed with enough pressure that a moan drew its way up and out of her chest. The answering smirk and swipe of a tongue into her mouth promised more; more pain, more pleasure.

By all the Gods had she chosen right, a perfect woman to spend her evening with.

Bellatrix had never shied away from physicality with her myriad lovers. Hell, she found it far more interesting than all her peer’s stories of laying there stiff as a log and just as unmoving, but to find a younger woman who seemed eager more than anything… A lovely surprise, that was for sure. Most women that she bedded were her own age, or just a bit younger, and though they knew what they wanted from their dalliances, most of their energy had been spent long ago.

But this woman? Granger? She was in her prime, vibrant and practically radiating arousal and _need_ as she pressed closer into Bellatrix’s naked skin. Gods above, she was practically _purring._

Bellatrix pushed Granger back towards the bed as fast as she could manage, the heavy door behind her closing with a thud. Yes, this was just where she wanted her.

“Well,” she moved curls and tangles of hair behind Granger’s ear when she leaned forward for another round of nips along her jaw, “You certainly seem to know what you want, Little One.”

Granger, for her part, seemed more than happy to acquiesce to Bellatrix’s domination of their position, her body swaying side to side as she stared up with dark eyes - _redder, now that she had the time to notice_ \- and parted lips.

Or, at least she _had_ been willing to keep that position. Right up until Bellatrix suddenly found herself _lifted_ by the smaller woman, and thrown backwards atop the duvet and comforters lining her bed. A sea of silk and pillows surrounded her on all sides, gas lamps distorting the images all around her with shimmers and wavering shadows. Granger moved faster than she had a right to, climbing up and atop her left thigh before something _wet,_ and _warm,_ pressed against her skin. 

There was no fireplace here in this room, a more modern innovation allowing it to absorb heat from the chimney below, and vents built into the walls. But even with the relative lack of active heat, she could feel herself burning up when Granger leaned forward to grip at the curls hanging by the base of her neck.

Gods she hadn’t been with anyone this vibrant in years; someone who was willing to push and shove their way into a fighting position, and heaven above was it refreshing. Too many of her years had been spent with docile partners who had worked to strip away the finery of her edges, leaving her all to sure of herself and her position. Still, it hadn’t meant she had forgotten how to reciprocate.

With a gasp of warm breath, she leaned forward into the grip at the same moment that she wrapped her arms around Granger’s back. She licked, wide and flat, before sucking the warmth of a nipple between her lips, alternating between sucking and swirling with her tongue. The body atop her moaned in delightful pleasure, long fingernails of Granger’s free hand swiping red swaths along Bellatrix’s back with a ferocity that had her keening.

Bellatrix released the soft nubbin of flesh with a pop, her grin lopsided and tongue exaggeratedly licking at her lips. The hand in her hair pulled sharply again, motioning her upwards and into a slow crawl from Granger’s chest and up her neck, soft nips along her jawbone and licks along her cheek. Her hands released their hold behind Granger’s back, free now to move from soft thighs to warm hips, just enough of a firm body for her to squeeze and caress as she moved.

There was no use for words in this position, language simply fading away, unneeded as it was. Their tongues returned to one another in a bout for domination, Bellatrix’s pride demanding she make the attempt, even as she settled into her new position.

Granger won, just barely by Bellatrix’s measure.

Something about her lips, her teeth along her jawline, the heady aroma of pure arousal and her perfume. It called to Bellatrix, in a way no other woman had.

Soon enough Bellatrix found herself pushed back until she was lying flat against the bed with her wrists held firmly in Granger’s hands. The body atop her was grinding as she moved, pushing further and further with every second. She was wet, warm until nearly scalding now, and Bellatrix could feel herself beginning to melt in kind. Up, she wanted up, but with the force of the woman atop her and the languid haze she was quickly descending into… 

She couldn’t.

She couldn’t, even when the eyes above her _truly_ turned bright red.

She couldn’t, even when Granger opened her mouth to reveal daggers.

She couldn’t, even when she felt the stinging pain of knives entering her neck.

She couldn’t, even as something warm and wet began to drip down the column of her throat.

She couldn’t because the orgasm that ripped through her body was unlike anything she had ever felt, ever imagined, even. It was heat, it was warmth, it was all pain and all desire. It was _novel_ and _beautiful._

It _terrified_ her.

It _consumed_ her.

And when Granger leaned back to sit atop her hips, red painting her face and dripping from grinning lips, it horrified her.

Yet still, she loved it all the same.

\---

The inhabitants of that little street, Grimmauld Place, numbers One through Fifteen, never did find out what happened to old Madam Lestrange. One night they saw her out, saw her return, and then after that…

Nothing.

… Or _almost_ nothing.

Rumours persisted into the years that followed, nights when strange lights danced behind curtained windows, howls and maddened cackles shaking windowpanes and walls. A demoness, they uttered into the security of their bedrooms, twinned devils come home to roost. One auburn, and young, the other ebony, and old. 

And if one took care to remain still and quiet at their windows, deep amid the witching hour, they just might catch sight of the two leaving to find their prey. Arms around one another, lovers smiles painted wickedly across their faces. Fangs that gleamed brightly beneath the moonlight.

And every Christmas, from then and ever after, the lane smelled of iron and bitter strawberries.


End file.
